


Two Plus One Equals Escape

by Vae



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-17
Updated: 2010-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-06 09:17:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/Vae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There must be some kind of way out of here</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Plus One Equals Escape

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sistercarrion](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sistercarrion).



> Torchwood and the characters belong to the BBC and RTD. No infringement of copyright intended, no profit is being made.

It's illegal. Of course it's illegal, but fuck that, John can get hold of anything. When John holds up the bag, translucent yellow patches, Jack takes one incredulous look and laughs, pushing off his bunk to move towards John and the bag. "How many?"

"Three," John pronounces with relish, holding the bag back out of Jack's reach, which would work a lot better if Jack didn't have longer arms than John, but he'll play along. For a while, anyway.

"Three?" Jack echos. There's no equal way to share three, and John knows that. Once the patches are activated, they can't be transferred. Something about DNA genetic bonding that Jack's never really understood, never cared to.

John nods, takes another step back, grin darkening to a smirk. "One for me, two for you. Only fair, pet."

Another time, Jack might argue the 'pet', but this time, he's only arguing the fairness. "How's that fair?"

It's foreplay, it's all fucking foreplay, and he knows it, and John knows it, and Jack knows that John knows it. And the look on John's face says that John knows that Jack knows that...fuck it, they all know it. "Greater resistance," John tells him, smirk still there. "You might just find a way to persuade me..."

Oh, yeah, all kinds of ways to persuade John, and the way John's free hand goes to his pants to flick the fastening open isn't exactly a subtle hint. "What is it, anyway?" If he's persuading, he wants to know what he's getting out of it.

"Hope," John announces, eyes steady on Jack's. "100% pure, grade A, undiluted hope. Thirty minutes a hit."

Hope. Jack's eyes stray to the bag again, and he licks his lips. Hope. He's forgotten what hope feels like, forgotten what a lot of things feel like, but this...all he's got left of hope is a distant memory that falls hollow without recent reference to give it true meaning. "Pure?"

"The best," John confirms softly, grinning like he's already won.

Jack stops reaching for the bag and falls to his knees. Maybe John's won. Maybe John's about to lose. Either way, Jack's about to suck what's left of John's chemically abused brain out through his equally experienced dick, and get that hit.

Thirty minutes of hope for each patch.

One hour of escape.

Five minutes on his knees.

It's a pretty simple equation.


End file.
